Burning the Maps
by tempusborealis
Summary: Cas hadn't said anything, had respected his need to keep things under wraps for the sake of his musical career, but Dean saw the little flinches each time there was an award ceremony Dean would attend alone or an interview where he said he was unattached and those small winces made his heart feel like it was twisting in his chest every time. It ended now. Destiel AU.


**Pairing**: Destiel  
**Rating**: PG (T)  
**Disclaimer**: There'd be plenty of things that would be different if I owned _Supernatural_.  
**Summary**: Cas hadn't said anything, had respected his need to keep things under wraps for the sake of his musical career, but Dean saw the little flinches each time there was an award ceremony Dean would attend alone or an interview where he said he was unattached and those small winces made his heart feel like it was twisting in his chest every time. It ended now. **This is an AU.** Prompt fill for **superwholockinthebatmobile**.

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He wasn't going to bring it up if she didn't. That was the plan.

But if she did…he was going through with this. Cas hadn't said anything, had respected his need to keep things under wraps for the sake of his musical career, but Dean saw the little flinches each time there was an award ceremony Dean would attend alone or an interview where he said he was unattached and those small winces made his heart feel like it was twisting in his chest every time.

It ended now. Well, if this interviewer brought up his love life. He was going to fess up, publicly and irrevocably. If the subject was raised. No real need to draw attention to it himself, right? The public had been following him this long without knowing the details, he could just wait until…

No. Absolutely not. He wiped his suddenly clammy hands on the fine, expensive wool of his suit pants. That was the whole point of this endeavor; he rarely granted sit-down interviews – much less in front of a live studio audience on one of America's most beloved Sunday morning talk shows – because he valued his privacy a hell of a lot but fuck it if he didn't love Cas more. This was coming out today. _He_ was coming out today.

His eyes focused on the pretty Asian woman in front of him when he realized she was waiting for him to respond to something she had said. Had the lights been this bright and hot the entire time?

"I'm sorry, could you repeat the question?" he replied sheepishly into the silence stretching between them. She shot him back a serene smile and sympathetic eyes. Bless her.

"I was just saying how your latest single _Burning the Maps_ has enjoyed a lot of popularity among fans of all sorts of music: rock, country, folk. It's a love song, correct? Do you want to talk about it – the lyrics, your inspiration, your writing process?"

His inspiration? Easy. Flat and wide cheekbones, raspy stubble, chapped lips, soft tufts of hair between his fingers, stormy eyes, blunt yet elegant fingers, a trim waist, a lean chest that made a surprisingly good pillow. It was easy to come up with an answer but a thousand times more difficult to say it out loud. He gave her a demure smile and looked at his knees. He'd go for the low-hanging fruit first.

"It is a love song, but not the sappy kind that's all about how much the narrator loves the person they're singing about. It's… it's more about that initial leap of faith you take to be with someone. The choppy waters you wade out into when you think you really want something, something you've never had before, something you don't recognize, something you never expected to feel. But you just know it'll be worth it if you get there. It's a song about jumping off the cliff - overcoming hesitations and your history in order to gain something a million times better." At this he spared a square look at the camera for a second, knowing Cas was watching this interview at home over the drafts of his latest article.

Dean had been too nervous to bring Cas; he didn't usually tag along for these sorts of things and Dean was afraid he'd have lost his nerve if Cas were sitting in the front row only fifty or so feet away, paying rapt attention as he always did. But he'd casually yet firmly told Cas to tune in this time. He'd gotten a weird look for it, but Dean knew he'd be watching right now. He could imagine him sitting at home, sheaves of paper thrown over the coffee table all marked up with one of the uncountable red Bic pens Dean found in the strangest places. Could imagine dark hanks of hair poking out from between his fingers as pulled at it, trying to coax words out with a cup of tea sitting on one of the coasters Cas insisted on. The thought of what had become his domesticity calmed Dean's nerves as the woman across from him pressed on.

"Well said, what a lovely explanation," she beamed. Thank God for Sunday hosts, they were the gentlest interviewers. "Though I think I speak for everyone when I say we've all got a burning question." Dean's gaze snapped to hers as he tensed up. "Did you write the song _for_ someone?" Her tone caught and played with the word 'for' in a coy little way that made his heart rate pick up. That was certainly a curveball.

But no, he was ready for this. He loved Cas and it was about fucking time everyone knew about it. He took a breath and pushed out his answer before he could change his mind.

"I did, actually."

The smile on whatshername's – Tricia, that was right – face slipped a little bit. If Dean was prepared, she obviously was not. He smirked a little inside. That's right, after the three years he'd spent in the public eye denying romantic connections and explaining away paparazzi photos of him with flings and the occasional date, he was giving a straight answer. Well, maybe not as _straight_ as they were expecting but he wasn't backing down from this now. Her hesitation gave him a little rush of power he latched onto.

Tricia recovered well and maybe Dean felt a little bad for her. She'd been a sweet interviewer, lobbing him gentle underhand pitches and he'd been bunting. But his head was in the game now.

"Will you tell us a little bit about the lucky lady?"

Now Dean smirked outright, molten adrenalin pooling in the small of his back, diffusing across his shoulders and the back of his neck. If Tricia was unprepared for his candor, she hadn't seen anything yet. His inner circle knew about Cas, of course, but they didn't know about his plans for this interview: Cas didn't know, his manager didn't know, his agent didn't know, Sam didn't know, his publicist was going to have a fucking **cow**, but this train was barreling down the track now and Dean was going to sail it off a cliff.

"His name is Cas and he's… well, he's everything."

He actually heard an audible gasp come from the audience – apparently that happened in real life and not just in movies. Tricia's eyes went so comically wide he had to force himself not to laugh and he watched her fingers tighten around the cue cards in her hands. Yeah, he did feel a little sorry for her. He sent her the same smile she'd graced him with as he'd fumbled earlier and it seemed to have the same effect. She collected herself against the backdrop of excited murmuring and chatter from the people in the gallery seats.

"Well, that's…" she stalled for a moment, "that's some bad news for teenage girls everywhere, isn't it?" and Dean couldn't help it – he burst out into unrestrained guffaws, riding the high of his incredibly public confession. He wasn't thinking about what the papers would say tomorrow. He wasn't thinking about how this would impact his sales. He was thinking only of how Cas must be sitting on the couch with his pretty mouth hanging open and his eyes wide with shock. He was thinking only of how he must be sharing the same hot weight in his chest that just wanted to burst with joy and excitement. Screw everyone else; Dean was in love and now everyone knew it. Damn if that didn't just make him giddy with pride and satisfaction.


End file.
